


Red Solo Cup

by Chocolatpen



Series: Sendai Shooting [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji Character Study, Alternate Universe - High School, Consensual Underage Sex, Frottage, House Party, M/M, Multi, Outdoor Sex, Past Character Death, Rumors, Sexual Harassment, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatpen/pseuds/Chocolatpen
Summary: Sophomore Yahaba Shigeru has enough on his plate antagonising a certain Mad Dog to deal with Shirabu Kenjirou's massive crush on the new football captain.Now, if only he can get closer to popular juniors Akaashi Keiji and Hanamaki Takahiro.((This is a side story toTouchdown))
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji/Terushima Yuuji, Akaashi Keiji/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Shirabu Kenjirou/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Series: Sendai Shooting [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764994
Comments: 45
Kudos: 168





	1. One shot, Two shot,

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!!
> 
> **This is a side story to[Touchdown](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23785735/chapters/57138400) so please read that first :) **
> 
> This takes place approximately 8 months after the shooting, during the summer break before Akaashi's senior year. Yahaba is one year younger than him, as established in Touchdown. This is kind of a character study, but not really? It's more like an insight to Akaashi, from another point of view. Also with Yahaba's own inner turmoil and life drama ;)
> 
> I know many of you were hoping for the Oikawa POV/more Kuroaka and I promise that they are both in development :D
> 
> This was originally meant to be a one-shot, but I just needed to get this out because I'm way too lazy with editing. Giving me a deadline will motivate me a little. The whole story is about 8k words, so the second chapter will be way longer than the first.
> 
> Please do leave some kudos/comments if you enjoy <3 
> 
> I will update this story sometime between Wednesday and Friday :)

It’s during the tail end of Yahaba Shigeru’s sophomore year, the summer before he becomes a junior, that Yahaba throws the most stressful party in the history of parties.

This isn’t Yahaba’s first party. And heck, no matter what happens, he knows it won’t be the last, either. In the two years he’s been in Sendai High, Yahaba has made a name for himself as something of a party connoisseur.

People are often blindsided by Yahaba’s boyish, preppy features. They assume that he’s just another good boy destined for a peaceful but forgetful high school life, but Yahaba really doesn’t like that. It might be why he’s trying so hard to subvert the stereotype, with all the parties and the drinking and the slamming of people (read: person) against the wall.

Anyway, the whole point that Yahaba has been trying to make is that he is quite the veteran at throwing parties. So there’s really no reason why he’s so nervous for this one.

“Relax.” Shirabu Kenjirou says, as he enters the living room with a bowl of dip. Bags upon bags of chips and nachos are ripped open on the coffee table. Food is always good with these sorts of things – people don’t get as drunk as quickly. “You look like you’re going to go for a run and never come back. Which is just as well, honestly.”

“Trying to throw me out of my own house?” Yahaba retorts, rolling his eyes. Shirabu just offers him a mocking smirk.

Shirabu is probably Yahaba’s best friend. It was by coincidence that they met when they did, sitting next to each other in homeroom on the first day of freshman year. Shirabu has a full head of light brown hair with heavy-set bangs that droop into his matching chocolate-coloured eyes. It makes him look sweet, like a doll, but Yahaba knows from experience that Shirabu is _salty_. He’s the pettiest person Yahaba has ever met.

“Do you think they’ll actually show up?” Yahaba pipes up, as he follows Shirabu back into the kitchen.

Yahaba’s house – actually, it’s his family’s second vacation home – is a decent-sized bungalow sitting on the outskirts of the city. It overlooks the golf course that Yahaba’s father frequents, and it was the place he had his affairs at till Yahaba’s mother finally filed for divorce. Now, Yahaba has a new mother and a bungalow free for his use.

“Hanamaki-san said they would,” Shirabu shrugs, uncapping a bottle of vodka. It’s just the crappy kind, because they’re going to need a lot of it for the jungle juice. Yahaba wordlessly pours in some orange juice in tandem with his friend, watching the big tub fill with liquid. “It doesn’t matter if they don’t, anyway. We still throw some of the best parties around here.”

Yahaba agrees as he reaches for the cranberry juice. Some of the best, but not the best. His parties are no match for Terushima’s.

But then again, no one’s parties are a match for Terushima’s. He’s a beast. Most people would kill to get an invite, just because they’re so fun and exclusive. That’s why it had been such a big deal when both Yahaba and Shirabu had gotten invited, even just the once.

There are usually only juniors and seniors at Terushima’s parties. Only the popular ones, too. They’re all people Shirabu and Yahaba hardly ever talked to, just because their cliques were so rigid, and the party was the best networking opportunity they had.

To be very honest, Yahaba had been rather intimidated when they’d been approached by Hanamaki and Matsukawa. They were nicer than Yahaba expected, although it might just have been because there’d been no one to be nasty to in such a setting. One thing led to another, and then Yahaba suddenly found himself texting Hanamaki.

Yahaba had been hoping for it, sure, but he never actually expected Hanamaki to express an interest. It’s just that it would be so great to have both Hanamaki and Akaashi attend one of Yahaba’s house parties. The boost to Yahaba’s popularity alone is nothing to sneeze about, and then there’s also the fact that more people are going to be scrambling for invites, too.

Akaashi and Hanamaki are both regulars at Terushima’s big bashes, after all, so that just makes Yahaba’s fun by default.

“What if they show up and hate everything?” Yahaba says, worrying his lip. They’re done with the jungle juice now, moving on to stack cans of beer, cider and cruisers on the counter.

Yahaba has a decent-sized backyard, but no pool. They had Ennoshita and Kindaichi drag the dining table onto the verandah for beer pong, but there’s only one of those. There’s no dedicated dance floor either, just comfortable perches where people usually drink and talk with their friends.

“That just means that they’ve been spoilt by Terushima-san.” Ennoshita interjects as he enters the kitchen, Kindaichi right behind him. As usual, he has a bored look plastered across his features. People have often compared him to Sawamura Daichi, a senior varsity football player who’d recently graduated. Simple, but attractive in his conventionality.

Kindaichi towers over all of them as he reaches for the red solo cups stashed in the topmost drawers of Yahaba’s kitchen. His hair is done up in the gravity-defying style typical of the days he doesn’t have football practice.

Both Kindaichi and Ennoshita are sophomores too, juniors in the fall. They might finally have a shot at getting on the varsity team next season, what with the star-studded senior line-up – Sawamura Daichi, Iwaizumi Hajime and even the infamous Bokuto Koutarou – graduating to college football.

“Don’t worry about it, Yahaba! I’m sure everything will be fine.” Kindaichi grins, reassuringly, and Yahaba just replies with a weak smile. He really needs to get a grip. Ennoshita is right, because Yahaba throws good parties and he should be proud of it. Terushima’s just in too high of a bracket. Yahaba is the normal one here.

Yahaba downs a drink with his friends, grimacing at the first tangy alcoholic aftertaste. Shirabu immediately pours himself another, while Kindaichi drinks two in lieu of Kunimi – who always skips out on helping with the preparations but has a decent enough tolerance to last the night and help Yahaba clean up a little after everyone has left or passed out.

And then the first guests arrive.

Everything is running smoothly, thankfully, and people start flooding through the front door at a larger capacity than ever before. There are the usual suspects – most of the sophomores and some sociable freshmen – but there are also some juniors Yahaba has never seen before. Word must have gotten around about Hanamaki and Akaashi.

“Looks like it’s a success so far.” Shirabu says, sidling up to Yahaba. He has two drinks in his hand, one of which he offers his friend. Yahaba takes it gratefully, taking a few sips in an attempt to calm himself. Shirabu knows that he gets stressed every time he throws a party. It needs to be fun every time, or he can kiss his reputation goodbye.

“Yeah,” Yahaba replies, glancing at the screen of his phone. There are no new texts from Hanamaki, and it’s already almost ten o’clock. The party started hours ago, and everyone’s just beginning to get rowdier. It’s a really good thing no one actually uses the beds in this house to sleep. Yahaba sighs, deeply. “I should just give up. I mean, why would they want to hang out with us?”

“Uh, because we’re the most popular sophomores in the school?” Shirabu lifts an eyebrow, and it disappears under his fringe. He looks at Yahaba like he’s the dumbest person he’s ever seen. “Most of their clique just graduated, Yahaba. I think Hanamaki’s looking for new blood.”

  
Yahaba balks at the thought of being subject to such a high-stress environment every day. The promise of popularity is tempting, but Hanamaki and Akaashi seem larger than life. “I don’t know, I think I’d be too scared to say anything.”

“You listen to too much gossip,” Shirabu rolls his eyes, even though Yahaba can see that he’s shaken too. He’s been drinking much faster than usual, cup already empty in his hand. “Just remember that they’re human too.”

The doorbell rings, then, in an annoying chime punched in a playful rhythm. Almost like something out of a children’s cartoon.

Kunimi Akira glares at the door from where he’s seated, nursing a bottle of cider on one of the steps in the foyer, and then he glares at Yahaba and Shirabu even though he’s much closer to the front door than either of them.

Shirabu’s eyebrow ticks in the way it does when he’s getting pissed off, marching forward to say something spiteful to Kunimi. They’ve never really gotten along well, although they do seem to tolerate each other.

Yahaba just shrugs and goes to open the door himself. He’s the host, anyway. Maybe someone had been kind enough to order pizza (and pay for it too). That happened once before, on one of the nights after the football team went to championships.

“Who is it?” Yahaba asks, because that’s the safe thing to do even if his house is filled with drunk teenagers and there’s no way a robber would be dumb enough to attempt anything now.

“Ah, Yahaba,” A deep, playful voice comes floating from the other side of the door, and Yahaba freezes. He snaps his head to the side, gaze connecting with an equally shocked Kunimi and Shirabu. They’ve both fallen silent, sharp mouths finally zipped shut. “I forgot that you’re not Terushima. He likes it when I make up some dumb songs with the doorbell.”

Yahaba quickly fumbles with the lock on the door, then swings it open as fast as he can.

This can’t be real – but it is. Hanamaki Takahiro stares back at Yahaba from the doorway, sly smile lighting up his eyes with a mischievous glint. He has his hands in his pockets, posture borderline arrogant. It might have looked grating on any other person, but he seems to be able to pull it off.

“Hanamaki-san! Sorry about that.” Yahaba apologizes, even though he’s never heard of a special doorbell chime in his life, not even through the extensive school grapevine. Was he supposed to know it was Hanamaki at the door? Has he already messed this up? Yahaba’s heart is pounding hummingbird-quick in his chest and he doesn’t even want to know what his face must look like.

Luckily for Yahaba, Shirabu sweeps in to save his ass, as he usually does.

“Would you like a drink?” Shirabu asks simply, gesturing deeper into the house.

Hanamaki’s smirk widens. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Yahaba wants to sigh in relief, but it just gets choked in his throat when Hanamaki steps forward to enter his house. He’d just assumed that Hanamaki, on his own, is as much as he can ever hope for.

But Yahaba is wrong, and Hanamaki is not alone.


	2. Three Shot, Four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! It's Thursday and I'm back with this absurdly long second part!! I swear, this was supposed to be a one-shot and there wasn't anywhere else I could split it ^^" It's so oddly long (for my standards) that I'm not confident about the editing/proofreading even after going through it multiple times. I'll be combing through it again soon, I promise :)
> 
> I'll leave everything else for the last A/N!! Enjoy <3

Akaashi Keiji is all hooded green eyes, dark curly hair and an expression like stone. He’s standing a little behind Hanamaki, hands linked behind his back, as he watches Yahaba freeze at the door.

The rumours all say that Akaashi is stuck up, that he sleeps around and doesn’t even try talk to anyone he doesn’t deem worthy enough. They also say that Akaashi is the one to blame for the shooting. All the news channels were talking about it like a crime of passion, spinning stories of the shooter losing it when he was faced with the reality of a cheating lover – a cheating lover he lost to his own best friend.

Yahaba has respect for that.

Not for the fact that Akaashi probably indirectly caused a school shooting, but the fact that he somehow managed to enthrall both Bokuto Koutarou and Kuroo Tetsurou so completely that they would turn on each other for him. They were both top quality specimen and as high up on the social totem pole as they could possibly be, but it’s not especially hard to see how Akaashi did it when he’s standing right in front of Yahaba looking like a Greek statue come to life.

“A-Akaashi-san! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Yahaba stutters, because he was just about to close the door on _Akaashi Keiji’s_ face.

“Don’t worry about it.” Akaashi replies, and holy shit. This is the first time Yahaba has heard his voice, and it really doesn’t disappoint. It’s smooth, almost like honey, but it’s sharp like there’s a blade concealed in it. There might very well be one, metaphorically. “If you did, I would’ve just gone home.”

Yahaba tries not to deflate – so Akaashi really doesn’t want to be here. To his surprise, Akaashi picks up on his change of mood.

“Akaashi Keiji.” The dark-haired boy says, sticking out his hand in an effort to be friendly. There’s no change in his expression, which scares Yahaba a little, but he still takes the carrot before he needs to face the stick. It’s a good sign that Akaashi is initiating conversation at all.

“Yahaba Shigeru.” Yahaba replies, taking Akaashi’s hand and shaking it firmly. Although this is the first time that they’ve officially been introduced to each other, it’s not the first time they’ve _met_.

It was back when Yahaba got into a fight with Kyoutani Kentarou, the football team’s ‘mad dog’. Honestly, it wasn’t much of a fight. It was brief and consisted of Yahaba slamming Kyoutani up against the wall, yelling at him and then storming away. Yahaba can’t even remember what they disagreed about anymore, it was just something about Kyoutani picking on Kindaichi.

Anyway, the rumours didn’t spread much. They were nipped in the bud by Bokuto himself.

Yahaba still remembers how he’d been cornered by three hulking seniors from the football team. As per usual, Bokuto was the ringleader. He stood behind them with a wide, clueless grin plastered across his face and an arm thrown around a nonchalant Akaashi’s shoulders.

“You’re a tough cookie, huh, Yahaba?” Bokuto had teased, smile turning into something much meaner. It had been obvious, from his glee, that he hadn’t been seeking revenge for Kyoutani. He’d just been doing it for the feeling of power coursing through his veins. “But you’re just one against all of us. You really wanna do that?”

Yahaba hated that patronizing look, but he still shook his head. His pride could handle a little tumble if it meant that he could escape the situation unscathed.

That was the first time Yahaba had any kind of contact with Akaashi, who had really only been there as Bokuto’s trophy; something pretty he paraded around like another notion of superiority. Akaashi’s eyes had been glazed over, like he hadn’t even been paying attention, so really, Yahaba isn’t surprised that Akaashi doesn’t remember him at all.

Hanamaki hangs back, throwing a jovial arm around Akaashi’s shoulders and guiding him after Shirabu.

Yahaba doesn’t know how Hanamaki has enough courage to do that – Akaashi always looks like he’s about to rip a new one into anyone who dares to talk to him. Not to mention that everyone knows that he’s going to fill the power vacuum that Oikawa and Sugawara are leaving behind.

It’s almost perfect, like Akaashi had planned it all out. He’s best friends with Hanamaki, who’s not only always on top of all the drama going on in school, but also every other person’s wet dream (that voice, _goddamn_ ). Akaashi has also been quite publicly volunteering help for many school events, like when he worked backstage for the school play and fixed up the gym for homecoming.

Akaashi seems to have all the right connections in the right places, too. His boyfriend, Kuroo, is a recently graduated senior and three-time national hockey champion, but people have noticed that he’s gotten especially close to the new hockey captain, Terushima. Yes, the same Terushima who throws the most exclusive parties on campus.

It’s not terribly surprising. No one really expected Kuroo and Akaashi to last anyway, not when Kuroo’s a known fuckboy who’s been in bed with half the school.

Not when Akaashi carelessly discarded his last boyfriend the way he did.

Anyway, Yahaba doesn’t really care about all of that. It’s simple to him. Akaashi is the perfect candidate for the school’s queen bee next year, and Yahaba wants in on all that influence.

To Yahaba’s delight, the arrival of the two juniors does not go unnoticed. The people hovering around the foyer stop to whisper amongst themselves excitedly. A group of junior tennis players in the living room start elbowing each other, accompanied by whispers of “I told you!” and “I can’t believe they’re actually here.”

Yahaba just exchanges an incredulous glance with Kunimi, who has been filming the whole thing for his Instagram, before following after his newest guests.

Once they’re in the kitchen, Shirabu starts scooping up some jungle juice into four cups. Hanamaki leans up against the counter, watching with bright eyes, while Akaashi wanders around the kitchen surveying the bottles of alcohol stacked up against the walls.

“Sorry we were so late,” Hanamaki says, unapologetically, as he snatches up the promised beverage. He quickly downs one, smacking the empty cup back down onto the table before reaching for a second. “That dumbass Terushima got lost.”

Akaashi perches himself in a barstool in between Yahaba and Hanamaki, cradling a glass bottle of Smirnoff mix in his hands. Maybe Akaashi just doesn’t drink jungle juice. Yahaba never knew that.

“Terushima-san drove you?” Shirabu clarifies. His face is already turning a little red from all the alcohol he’s had, but it just makes him look even more doll faced.

“Well how else were we supposed to get _all_ the way out here?” Hanamaki snorts, gulping down his second drink. Yahaba tries not to take it personally, but it’s hard. Then the meaning of Hanamaki’s words actually sinks in.

“Did he drive all the way back?” Yahaba almost screeches as he realizes that Terushima Yuji had been outside his house. He’s frozen halfway through pouring another scoop of alcohol into Hanamaki’s cup. “He could have come in!”

“Trust me, he wanted to. You have a pretty sweet set-up here,” Hanamaki laughs, running a hand through his cotton-candy pink hair.

Yahaba feels his face heat up in response to the compliment. Hanamaki likes doing that – switching between insult and compliment so fast that Yahaba finds himself waiting for the next flattering thing to come out of his mouth.

Hanamaki’s laughter fades into a sly smirk and a conspiratorial wink. “But Akaashi basically owns him, now, so Terushima isn’t going anywhere.”

Yahaba meets Shirabu’s gaze from across the table. So the rumours really are true, then.

“I don’t own him,” Akaashi replies primly, speaking for the first time since he introduced himself. His face is impassive as ever, although his eyebrows are slightly furrowed. He seems to want to say more, but he’s interrupted by the doorbell going off again.

“It’s your turn,” Yahaba says, immediately, and peeks at his best friend over the mouth of his cup. Shirabu glares at Yahaba, but he still pushes off the counter and heads over to the front door without arguing.

Once Shirabu is gone, Yahaba and Hanamaki get into a heated discussion about Shirabu’s rather widely discussed bangs. Are they natural? Or does Shirabu carry around a set of clip-on curlers and hairspray on his person? Is he even a natural brunette? Akaashi is mostly silent next to them, although he does listen intently and interject when he has something to add.

Slowly, Yahaba finds himself relaxing in the two juniors’ presence. It’s something he never expected himself to do, what with their bloated reputations, but Yahaba naturally starts yearning for more of their attention. Both of them are so sought-after by the majority of the high school population that they could talk to any single one of the people here and have them groveling at their feet in no time.

It’s almost addictive, having both Hanamaki and Akaashi’s focus on him when they could have chosen anyone else.

Akaashi excuses himself to the bathroom halfway through, just as Shirabu finally returns to the kitchen with a bright flush dusting over his cheekbones and his nose. He almost looks sunburnt, and Yahaba wants to ask him what’s wrong, but he’s very quickly interrupted by a sudden influx of boys.

They clamor over the drinks, clutching a few cans of beer each before heading out towards the back of the house. Yahaba scowls when he catches sight of dirt-ugly black and yellow streaks. Of course. The juniors on the football team must have caught wind from Kunimi’s social media. They’ve never really deemed Yahaba worthy of their presence before, but he guesses there’s a first time for everything.

Hanamaki perks up at the familiar faces. Some of them come around to greet him, slinging suggestive arms around his waist and pressing their bodies close.

“Who’s your friend, Makki?” One of them asks, sipping from a cup of jungle juice as he leans over Yahaba. Shirabu is still on the other side of the kitchen, pulling out another few six-packs from the bottom drawer. They’re quickly snatched out of his hands, even though they haven’t even been chilled yet.

“Oh, this is Yahaba!” Hanamaki grins, shrugging the guys off and throwing his arm around Yahaba’s shoulders instead. Yahaba blushes, because Hanamaki’s voice is so very deep and he can hear it rumbling in his chest when they’re in such close proximity. “He’s the host, actually, but you guys must have known that, right?”

The football guys look a little chastised, and they’re quick to run off with their friends. Once they’re gone, Hanamaki rolls his eyes and pulls away to refill his drink. “Dumbasses, honestly. They should at least be aware of whose party they just crashed.”

Yahaba flushes even darker. There’s something warm and pleasant in his chest in response to Hanamaki’s protectiveness.

Maybe after this, they’ll actually be friends.

“Ushijima is here,” Shirabu cuts in, zooming across the kitchen to join them now that the crowd has subsided again. He looks a little frantic as he comes to grasp Yahaba’s cheeks. “Ushijima. Is. Here.”

Beside Yahaba, Hanamaki bursts out in raucous laughter. He clutches at his stomach for a while, as the two sophomores stare at him. When he straightens back up, he’s wiping a tear from his eye. “You like Ushijima Wakatoshi?”

Shirabu flushes again, although it barely shows under all that alcohol-induced redness. “Well, yeah I guess. There’s nothing wrong with him, is there?”

Yahaba doesn’t really understand why Hanamaki laughed, either. Ushijima is the new football team captain, a joint decision made by Iwaizumi and Sawamura in the wake of their previous captain’s untimely death. Ushijima is rather stoic, but he’s a talented football player and popular enough to be a constant attendee of Terushima’s big bashes. Hanamaki shouldn’t have a problem with him.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Hanamaki says, and his grin is a little feral. His lips wobble a little, like he’s trying not to laugh again. “Word of advice, about Ushijima’s type. He doesn’t like to compromise, so he prefers the kind of person who’s able to dedicate their entire being to him.”

“Oh?” Shirabu says, contemplatively. Hanamaki is probably the best person to hear this from, just because he has the privilege of knowing Ushijima both personally and through the rumour mill.

  
“Yeah,” Hanamaki nods, knocking back another cup. He looks pleasantly buzzed, and Yahaba has to wonder how high the junior’s alcohol tolerance really is. “He’ll say ‘sit’ and expect you to sit. I’d never be able to do it. But I guess _some people_ are into that kind of thing.”

Hanamaki’s jibe flies over Shirabu’s head entirely. Yahaba knows because he recognizes the look in his friend’s eyes. The cogs in Shirabu’s brain are working overtime, and he’s not paying attention to the conversation anymore. Hanamaki seems to realise this too, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, the junior refills his cup yet again before sashaying away from the counter.

“It’s been fun, but I’m going to look around for a new face in this crowd,” Hanamaki announces. He shoots them a two-fingered salute and an amused grin, before he disappears around the corner.

“I’m an idiot,” Shirabu groans, half-collapsing into Yahaba’s side once Hanamaki is gone. Yahaba can smell the alcohol wafting off him. “I just told Hanamaki Takahiro that I like Ushijima-san.”

Yahaba can only wince and pat him on the head in reassurance. The news will probably spread by the next day, or maybe even faster than that. Hanamaki had been so friendly that Yahaba, too, ended up letting down his guard around him. That’s probably just how Hanamaki works, though. He weasels in and pretends to be nice for a little while, then he leaves after he’s gotten what he wanted.

“Let’s go scope out the backyard. I don’t want them making a mess of things.” Yahaba suggests, in hopes of distracting his friend. He fills up two cups and hands one over to Shirabu. The other boy looks a little like he’s wilting, so Yahaba nudges him gently. “We’ll get to see your darling Ushijima-san, too.”

That helps to perk Shirabu up somewhat, so Yahaba takes a few self-congratulatory sips as they head towards the back end of the bungalow.

Honestly, Yahaba doesn’t really know what Shirabu sees in someone like Ushijima Wakatoshi. Hanamaki may be terrifying and sarcastic, but he’s right in the sense that Ushijima is somewhat of a control freak.

Most of Yahaba’s guests are far gone at this point in the night; reduced to stumbling around drunkenly or just straight up getting dragged out the door by their more sober friends. They’re all still underage, and most of them aren’t used to drinking alcohol at all.

Yahaba doesn’t really care. He’s made it clear that anyone who dares to puke in his house will face his wrath in school, and anyone who’s about to die of alcohol poisoning can fuck off his property before they’re all busted.

“Shirabu! Yahaba!” Ennoshita calls, looking surprised to see them. He’s leaning against the wall, right in front of the stairwell leading up to the second floor.

“Oh, Ennoshita,” Shirabu nods. He looks pointedly around Ennoshita. “Where’s Kindaichi?”

Ennoshita’s mouth curls into a mild smirk at the question, and he shrugs. “Hanamaki-san was adamant about talking to him… in the bathroom.”

Yahaba’s mouth drops open, and then he and Shirabu burst into peals of loud laughter. Just imagining Kindaichi – who’s usually pretty confident but devolves into nothing short of an embarrassed mess when confronted with sex – with someone like Hanamaki Takahiro is just too funny to bear.

Yahaba feels a tinge of pity for the other sophomore, though. Hanamaki and his long line of conquests must be intimidating for someone as inexperienced as Kindaichi.

Come to think of it, Kindaichi isn’t even one for casual hookups. The only person he’s done the dirty with is his ex-girlfriend, but Yahaba understands well enough that Hanamaki is someone who’s very hard to say no to.

“Anyway, I-uh, it’s a good thing you guys headed over,” Ennoshita says, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m not really sure if I can step in, what with the strict hierarchy of the football team and all.”

“Are they making trouble?” Yahaba immediately snaps, the happy alcohol haze dispersing.

“No, no,” Ennoshita waves his hand dismissively. He shifts uncomfortably in front of the staircase. “They’re hogging the beer pong table out back and harassing a few sophomores, but that’s nothing. It’s just Ushijima-san, but to be honest, I’m not really sure what’s happening.”

Shirabu frowns, pushing past Ennoshita and looking past him into the staircase. Whatever he sees makes him flinch, hand tightening around his cup. The murky jungle juice sloshes out of it, splashing down onto the floor, and then Shirabu turns tail and flees towards the front of the house.

“Shirabu!” Ennoshita makes a frustrated noise, glancing back towards a bewildered Yahaba before chasing after the brunette.

Curiosity spiked, Yahaba steps forward and peeks around the corner. The first thing he sees is Ushijima’s broad back. His hair, distinctive in its olive shade, is slicked away from his handsome features. The next thing Yahaba notices is that he has his arms around someone else; one hand a fist on the wall beside dark, messy curls, and the other curling tightly around a slim waist.

Everything makes sense, now, things clicking into place as Yahaba’s slow alcohol-riddled mind registers that Ushijima Wakatoshi is crowding Akaashi Keiji against the wall.

“Akaashi.” Ushijima’s voice is deep, almost inflectionless. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple.” Akaashi says, and something about the way he presses himself into the wall, away from Ushijima, makes Yahaba pause. “I’m. Not. Interested.”

Ushijima tilts his face to the side for a moment, and Yahaba can see, even in the shadows, how his brow furrows. “Bokuto used to say that you need a firm hand. Does that mean that asking isn’t enough?”

Akaashi’s eyes harden at the mention of his ex-boyfriend, and he squirms even harder in Ushijima’s arms. “No, Ushijima-san. Please let me go.”

It’s at that moment that Akaashi’s eyes dart around Ushijima in search of an opening and land on Yahaba’s prone form.

Yahaba has been too shocked the move this whole time. Yahaba knows what consent is, and he knows that Ushijima is ignoring the fact that Akaashi is uncomfortable with his advances. Ushijima has his hands on Akaashi, and he’s still closing in even though it seems like Akaashi is rejecting him.

Yahaba knows that this is all wrong, but he’s confused because it is Akaashi Keiji being caged in against the wall. Akaashi, who is supposed to be somewhat of a slut for anyone who’s popular enough, worthy enough. Handsome, strong, wealthy, the same age and the captain of the football team – Ushijima is surely more than enough.

Yahaba swallows, an uncomfortable lump forming in his throat. This goes against everything he knows about Akaashi.

A thought passes through Yahaba’s mind. Maybe this is just Akaashi’s ruse. Maybe Akaashi likes acting hard to get, and that’s what made Bokuto and Kuroo and Terushima fall at his feet like little broken toys.

Akaashi’s expression turns a little pained, and then he looks away.

Yahaba squeezes the cup in his hands a little, just enough to feel a small splash of alcohol spill over onto his fingers. Fuck it. He’s drunk and he feels braver than he usually does anyways.

Yahaba marches forward and calls out loudly. “Akaashi-san!”

Both Akaashi and Ushijima startle at the volume, both twisting their heads to look at Yahaba. The sophomore plasters a grin on his features, acting a little shocked at finding Ushijima and Akaashi together. “Oops! Ushijima-san is here too. Sorry if I’m interrupting, but Hanamaki-san was looking for you.”

Akaashi blinks, and then he nods, shimmying out of Ushijima’s slackened grip. “I better go find him, then.”

Yahaba leads them away from Ushijima, towards the back of the house. They pass by the group of rowdy junior football players who leer at them as they pass by.

Yahaba isn’t used to this – the attention, mostly, but he’s also unaccustomed to dealing with people who are older and more popular than he is. Yahaba hasn’t interacted with them much, and he only knows some of them through rumours and brief encounters at Terushima’s house.

Akaashi seems to be an expert at ignoring them, though, maybe because he’s been dealing with them his entire high school career. He’s probably already warmed their beds, too.

“Thank you for that,” Akaashi says quietly, as they walk down the steps to the garden. They are expansive, dotted with solar-powered lamps and decorative bushes that Yahaba’s stepmother insisted on. It’s much more peaceful outside, although a giggling couple does stumble past them into the deeper darkness of the garden.

“No worries,” Yahaba replies, as he takes a seat on one of the moss-green lawn chairs. A rush of relief washes over him. Akaashi hadn’t been acting, then, even if it’s rather odd behaviour. “I mean, that’s what any friend would do, right?”

Akaashi takes a seat on the chair next to him, curling his legs up underneath his body. He’s looking at Yahaba strangely, contemplative look in his eyes, before he smiles a little. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Although it’s just a small deviation from Akaashi’s generally bland expression, it causes Yahaba to choke on the sip he’s just taken from his cup. The sophomore coughs, scrunching up his nose in discomfort as he feels the liquid burn a trail up his nose.

Yahaba feels his face heat in embarrassment, and then his eyes widen even more in shock when he realizes that Akaashi is laughing. The other boy’s eyes are crinkled into crescents, the pretty green of his irises a mere glimmer between thick dark eyelashes. His mouth is pulled taut at the corners, pearly white teeth parted in an open laugh.

The expression makes Yahaba feel good, like he’s being appreciated. Sure, it may be at Yahaba’s expense, but the sophomore doubts that there are more than ten people in the whole school who have ever heard Akaashi laugh.

Once Yahaba’s coughing tapers off, he goes back to sipping at his drink. He watches as Akaashi slips his phone out of his pocket, his features softening into something fond.

When Akaashi realizes that Yahaba is staring at him, he doesn’t react defensively. He doesn’t even try to angle his screen away. Instead, Akaashi just smiles again. “Yahaba, would you mind taking a photo with me?”

“Y-yeah, sure.” Yahaba stutters. His heart is pounding so hard in his chest. Really, he can hardly believe this.

Akaashi holds up his arm, camera flipped so that Yahaba can see himself on the screen. He leans in so that he fits in frame, head hovering near Akaashi’s shoulder. Taking selfies, at least, is something Yahaba is rather good at. He takes an average of a hundred a day with Shirabu, for their social media, after all. It sounds like overkill, but it’s really not when most of those photos make them look like trolls.

Akaashi takes just the one photo, and Yahaba is lucky he looks somewhat decent in it. Akaashi of course, doesn’t seem to realise that taking one photo instead of multiple photos is the weirdest thing ever. Not that it matters, because Yahaba isn’t sure if Akaashi is even capable of looking anything but picture-perfect.

“My boyfriend worries too much, sometimes,” Akaashi shrugs, in explanation, as he sends off their photo in what seems like a private chat. A speech bubble emerges almost immediately with a reply.

“You mean Kuroo Tetsurou-san?” Yahaba squeaks in shock. He can’t imagine it at all. While he’s never talked directly to Kuroo, he _has_ seen him around. The senior doesn’t seem like someone who would care much, if at all.

Akaashi nods, raising an eyebrow in question. Yahaba just shakes his head. It’s not his business how Akaashi handles his… men. The sophomore holds up his phone. “Can you airdrop that photo to me? It’s okay if I post it right?”

“Of course, Yahaba,” Akaashi nods, fiddling with his phone, and Yahaba is struck by how many things have surprised him about Akaashi in just one night. He might be quiet, but he’s been nothing but polite. There’s nothing of the rude, stuck-up person that the rumours claim him to be.

Akaashi hums under his breath, fingers drumming a rhythm on the armrest of his chair. “I hope you know that there’s been someone staring at you this whole time.”

“What.” Yahaba says, gaze snapping up to Akaashi from where he’d been examining his face in their photo. He’s going to need to FaceTune that pronto.

Akaashi tips his face a little to the left, and Yahaba follows it to a dark spot in the gardens, behind the junior, where a familiar head of black-and-blonde is swiveling away.

A scowl immediately etches itself into Yahaba’s face. He can feel it tugging at his mouth and his eyebrows. Yahaba really only has one expression to spare for this particular pain in the ass.

“I hope everything is alright.” Akaashi nibbles on his lip, surveying Yahaba’s expression with concern. “Do you need me to call someone?”

“I can handle him,” Yahaba shakes his head as he gets up, shooting an impish smile back at Akaashi as he heads further into the darkness of the garden. “I have a mean right hook.”

Yahaba wants to be reassuring, for Akaashi’s sake, but he almost regrets it as he treads further into the darkness and feels the tendrils of uncertainty winding around his chest. Still, Yahaba isn’t going to get Akaashi involved in a conflict that has been brewing for more than a year. Not when he’s been working on getting on Akaashi’s good side the whole night.

Yahaba smells cigarette smoke first, bitter mint wafting through the air. He scrunches up his nose, making his way past a few more square-cut bushes to find Kyoutani Kentarou leaning up against a tall hedge. The junior football player looks grumpy as usual, dark eyes narrowed in a perpetual glare, and his close-cropped hair is dyed blonde save for two dark streaks running from the backs of his ears and around his head. Yahaba has always found the hair style outlandish.

“Ushijima-san know that you’re out here ruining your lungs?” Yahaba says, in lieu of a greeting. Football is important to Kyoutani, even if he likes to deny it. He might act the part of a delinquent perfectly, but he never causes enough trouble to be suspended or kicked off the team. Even now, Kyoutani is still sporting his varsity jacket like a prize.

Kyoutani’s eyes narrow even further into an intense glare when he spots Yahaba approaching. Then he shrugs, tapping the stick against his finger. “New captain, new rules. Ushijima doesn’t care as long as I do my job and cover his ass on the field.”

Yahaba remembers finding Kyoutani behind the bleachers, spitting blood with a giant black eye to match. Bokuto and Iwaizumi would never have let something like this slide. They were the only ones Kyoutani listened to, and now they’re both gone. Something tells Yahaba that Kyoutani isn’t going to listen to Ushijima, no matter how many arm wrestling matches Ushijima beats Kyoutani at.

“Whatever,” Yahaba mumbles. It’s not his problem. Then, he crosses his arms over his chest and regards Kyoutani with his Scowl™. “Anyway, I just came here to tell you to stop with your creepy staring. You’re freaking Akaashi-san out.”

“Yeah, what’s up with you?” Kyoutani rolls his eyes, a grimace twisting at his lip. “Acting all fucking demure and shit. Trying to get into the ice prince’s good graces?”

“What?” Heat rises to Yahaba’s cheeks. How obvious does he have to be, that even someone as dense as Kyoutani ‘mad dog’ Kentarou can tell? “That’s none of your business.”

“Akaashi is nothing special.” Kyoutani shrugs. He takes another puff of his cigarette and exhales directly into Yahaba’s face. The brunette squawks, expletives flowing out of his mouth as he tries to fan the smoke away. Kyoutani just grins darkly. “See, that’s the real Yahaba.”

“You’re so- so infuriating!” Yahaba growls, closing the distance between them in a few angry stomps. He makes sure to get into Kyoutani’s personal space, shoving his finger in Kyoutani’s face so that he almost goes cross-eyed staring at it. “You avoid me like the plague, then come to one of my parties once the popular crowd in your year deems it good enough. Because Akaashi-san and Hanamaki-san are here. You’re as much an ass-kisser as me.”

“Yeah, well at least I’m not simpering to anyone like you!” Kyoutani snaps, dropping his cigarette and grinding it into the ground with the thick sole of his boot. His voice takes on an irritatingly high-pitched tone. “Akaashi-san let me pour you a drink! Akaashi-san, let me suck your dick!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Yahaba retorts angrily, shoving Kyoutani backwards. He must be as drunk as Yahaba, because he stumbles backwards clumsily where he would normally be as unmovable as a tank.

Kyoutani’s hand snatches at the front of Yahaba’s shirt in an attempt to steady himself, but it just makes things worse because Yahaba loses his balance too. They both fall to the ground in a messy heap of flailing limbs.

The first thing Yahaba feels is irritation, piercing and strong. They’re half-tangled in the foliage now, soil smearing against Yahaba’s skin and clothes as he struggles to separate himself from the annoying asshole underneath him.

The second thing Yahaba feels is apprehension, which melts fully into disbelief as Kyoutani’s arms circle around his waist; keeping him close enough to feel the hard appendage poking against Yahaba’s hip.

“You know,” Yahaba starts, fingers curling in the material of Kyoutani’s varsity jacket as he props himself up on his elbows. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous. Or something.”

Kyoutani’s lip curls, his body tensing under Yahaba like a coiled snake. Yahaba rears back, eyes shutting as he braces himself for a punch.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Yahaba feels a pair of lips crash into his. They’re soft, but they taste distinctly of tobacco and alcohol. Yahaba also knows who they belong to. He knows, yet he finds himself kissing back.

At this point, Yahaba is past asking himself questions. He doesn’t know if the stirring in his heart is some kind of odd infatuation with a boy he has eyed hatefully for a full year. He doesn’t know if this is just a release of all the tension built up over the course of the night. He doesn’t even care that they’re doing this here, in a dark corner of the garden in the Yahaba family holiday home.

All Yahaba knows is that Kyoutani is hard underneath him, and that Yahaba’s own length is stirring in interest.

Kyoutani bucks upwards, grinding himself against Yahaba. The hot heat of Kyoutani rubbing against him makes Yahaba gasp, and he immediately finds a tongue jammed down his throat. Kyoutani kisses the same way he acts – brash and aggressive. He takes what he wants, no hesitation in the way he slips his hands down to knead Yahaba’s ass.

Yahaba moans into the kiss. He can feel his asshole spreading inside his underwear every time Kyoutani manhandles him, and his cock is starting to drip with precum.

“Fuck,” Kyoutani pulls back with a curse. He starts struggling with his pants, hazily locating the button and pulling down the zipper. Yahaba stares at him, tongue darting to wet his lips as Kyoutani’s cock springs free from it's confines. It's fully hard, red and veiny.

Yahaba only distantly registers Kyoutani doing the same to him, and he only jerks back into full awareness as Kyoutani’s hand reaches into his underwear and pulls out his cock. The inside of Yahaba’s boxer briefs is sticky, and Kyoutani’s hand comes out looking slick, but he doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed.

Yahaba straightens, sitting back on his heels as he slaps Kyoutani’s hand away.

“What-” Kyoutani starts, voice gravelly, but he’s silenced with a firm glare. If they’re going to do this, then Yahaba is going to be in control. He trusts Kyoutani as far as he can throw him, and that’s not far at all. Yahaba doesn’t want to go all the way with Kyoutani – he doesn’t even know what this is. So he’ll make do.

Yahaba shuffles forward, shuddering when their hard-ons rub up against each other. Kyoutani stares at him, transfixed, as Yahaba straddles him like he would while riding cock. The football player’s hands come up to grip Yahaba’s hips, tight and bruising. Yahaba doesn’t really mind, so he lets the warmth of Kyoutani’s palms seep into his skin as he begins rutting against him.

The friction is barely there, but whatever Yahaba can feel is delicious. It’s tantalizing.

Kyoutani makes a frustrated noise, so Yahaba quickly spits into his hand and grabs both of them roughly. Yahaba’s fingers hardly fit all the way around, but his other hand is busy helping him keep his balance. Any other time, Yahaba would have been cringing at the way the grass and soil cuts into the neat white crescents of his nails. Right now, he’s too preoccupied chasing the building pressure in the depths of his belly.

“Fuck, Yahaba, don’t stop,” Kyoutani groans, hips bucking up into Yahaba’s hand as his fingers dig painfully into Yahaba’s soft hips. Yahaba’s hand tightens, ever-so-slightly, as his pace quickens, and that’s all they need.

Yahaba comes hard, vision whiting out for a second as he feels twin spurts of hot semen spray all over his hand.

“F-Fuck,” Yahaba mutters, slumping back onto his heels. Kyoutani’s thighs bunch under Yahaba’s weight, and for a moment he allows himself to appreciate the strength in those muscles. Then he snaps his head back up, smirking cockily at the boy under him. “So you really were jealous?”

“Fuck off,” Kyoutani’s whole face flushes, and he hurries to tuck himself back into his pants. He doesn’t actually make a move to push Yahaba off, but the sophomore still slides off Kyoutani with a light chortle.

Yahaba’s phone rings, bright tune jarringly loud amidst the backdrop of the whistling wind and their slowing pants. The brunette winces as he feels the gunk on both his hands. He pauses, looking at both sides, before wiping his right palm on the grass. It paints the poor plants white, but it doesn’t really matter because all the evidence will be washed away the next time it rains.

Yahaba zips himself up, then starts picking idly at the soil below his fingernails as he unlocks his phone. What he sees almost makes him drop it.

[02:34] Hanamaki: Sounds like you’re having fun. Invite me sometime (･ω<)☆

[02:34] Hanamaki: Also, dk what kind of voodoo spell you did but Aka seems to like you.

[02:35] Hanamaki: Meet us at the mall on Monday. Noon. Don’t be late!!

Yahaba squeezes his phone in his hand, bright grin lighting up his entire expression. He will have to find Shirabu, who is hopefully moping under Ennoshita’s responsible gaze, and tell him the good news. He needs to ask Kindaichi what Hanamaki is like, too, and if the rumours do him any justice.

“Stop that,” Kyoutani pipes up. His legs are crossed under his body, and he’s leaning against one of the bushes. He’s looking at Yahaba with disgust, even though he’s the one lighting up another cigarette. “That gleeful look. It makes your face look even more screwed up than usual.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Yahaba squints at him and sticks out his tongue. He’s in much too good a mood for Kyoutani to ruin. “You’re the guy who just came looking at this screwed-up face.”

Yahaba ignores whatever indignant reply Kyoutani thinks up, instead opting to type up a reply to Hanamaki with shaking fingers. Yahaba wants to squeal or kick his legs or anything to show the excitement bubbling up inside him, but he settles on smiling at his phone; teeth digging into his lower lip.

It seems like the night didn’t turn out so bad after all.

{End}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked that :) I had fun writing it!!
> 
> Please leave some kudos/comments if you enjoyed, and tell me what you think <3 
> 
> Also, stay tuned to this series because what we have coming up next is the Oikawa backstory/prequel to Touchdown ;)


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